Sammy?
by diedfordean
Summary: A DEA! AU, featuring Dean as a federal agent. *Inspired by the final eps of season 6.
1. Chapter 1

Dean sat behind the same desk that the federal government provided him and all the other DEA agents, along with a stationary tag with the name "Winchester" written across it. Signifying very little to the people he now worked with.

If you saw Dean's home and car, you'd be surprised just how neat his desk was. The files that were stacking up were all aligned and in piles based on his cases. He had a lamp for the late nights reading and searching through the printed pages of reports from local police and from fellow DEA agents. The laptop sat in front of the chair, now closed, angled to the edge of both his office desk calendar and the edge of his desk. The drawers were closed and locked.

The only thing out of place was the one photo he was able to ever find of his father. Two summers before he passed at Ocean City. Because he was hours away from the Atlantic and his parents ran hectic lives, it was a rare occasion to travel that far. It was his father, smiling, holding Dean and his baby brother. The picture was off angled, Dean could remember the wind and their mother laughing as she tried to hold on to her hat and take the picture. He could feel the press of his dad's mouth and scuff against the side of his head like it was yesterday. The picture frame was wooden, with a fine plastic cover rather than glass to prevent any breaking and damage to the photo. It just sat with its own area point at Dean.

Dean shook his head. He hated thinking about his father in the workplace. Thinking about the shadow he followed in, the name that rang with diligence and valor in Baltimore was no longer important to his fellow agents. After nearly eighteen years on the force, seven in narcotics, Dean got the hang of the job. But he was in a whole new world of evil, with international drug threats and cartel wars.

He rubbed his eyes before looking at his watch. Nearly eleven and all he had done for the past five hours was read. His latest case was one that struck close. His crowning achievement coming back to haunt him it seemed. He stood up, the chair squeaking as he pushed it in. He strode over to a locker with his initials labeled across it, grabbing a leather jacket older than him and reached to check for his keys.

The drive was short. He was able to find an apartment for two pretty easily on the income he was making, but Washington D.C. still wasn't cheap. But Dean knew he had to get something nice and clean. He pulled up to a spot next to an old Indian motorcycle. It hadn't moved for a few days thankfully. Dean let out a sigh of relief with the realization. He exited his impala, locking the door behind him after grabbing a file. He walked past a street lamp on his way to a stair well. It was nights like these he was glad he was on the second floor.

He turned the key and doorknob and entered his apartment. He could hear the TV in the living room on, soft and playing one of those annoying car insurance commercials. "Sammy? You still up?" Dean said as he placed his keys on a small table just inside of the entrance to their kitchen. "Yeah. I… uh… was waiting for you." replied a frail voice. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes and walked toward his brother.

Sam was lying on the couch, rubbing his fingers together constantly. It was a nervous tick he picked up a few years ago. He was wearing sweats and an old t-shirt he got when he was in high school. A shirt he shouldn't even fit in anymore. Sam's thin arms poked out the sleeves, as if they were just bones. His face was looking much better, but still pale and thin. His hair was long, but a mess. He obviously hadn't moved from that spot for a while.

"How long have you been awake?" It was nearly midnight now, but Dean always had to ask. "I actually woke up when you left. I kinda got nervous and couldn't shut my eyes again." Sam said looking down, not toward his brother. His tick slightly quickening and he shook a bit. Dean held back a frown but smiled instead, and said "That's alright Sammy, I understand," he reached over to the small coffee table and grabbed a stress ball and held it in front of his brother. "Here, you'll rub her fingers raw again." Sam nodded as he grabbed the ball and pressed it near flat and rolled it between his hands.

Dean sat down next to his brother and softly grabbed Sam's chin and forced him to look at him, Dean staring in to Sam's eyes. "You haven't eaten today have you?" Dean's eyebrow's raised. Sam just looked disappointed again. "I don't… I don't want to mess up…" He just stared at the ball he was squeezing and took deep breaths. Dean forced a half smile and rubbed Sam's head and said "Hey, it's alright. But don't expect five-star quality from me. I can barely make cereal." He jumped up and headed to the kitchen, the over-head light shown an odd green tint to the room that Dean didn't really like, but didn't have the energy to care.

He walked to his freezer and pulled out a small bowl covered with foil, frozen left over soup he held on to for a few days after he made it. He dropped the solid brick of soup in to a small pan that sat on the stove top and turned it on and waited.

Dean's head ached with the worry he had. He was glad he brother was here, safe, and some-what healthier. But he didn't seem to be taking any of the medication that his doctor said her necessary to keep up his mental functions and to help calm him down.

Just after high school, Sam became just as rebellious as any other teen. He constantly gave his mother a hard time, but she was strong and constantly kept him in line, for as long as she could. Eventually, Sam was lost in the party scene and hooked. Dean, at the time working sixty hour weeks and only giving a few phone calls when he was conscious and not busy, he lost his brother in the very world he was fighting; Drugs.

After their mother kicked Sam out and cut off contact with him, Dean took him in. With the strict rules that it was "My way or the highway," as he put it. Only admitting it to himself, Dean would never forgive himself for what happened to Sam. No amount of rides to rehab, constant re-enforcement, staying up all night just to make sure he's breathing, calling him from work when he feel strange, would ever make up for the fact he could have saved his brother long before he was in trouble.

But he was clean, including methadone treatment and no longer being forced in to outpatient therapy. Nearly a month now he was staying with Dean and not having to get his body filtered or pumped clean. Dean knew he wasn't in tip-top shape now, but better now than ever before.

Dean dipped his pinkie finger in to the slightly boiling soup, the burning sensation pushing an "Ah!" from his lips. With his pinkie in his mouth, he turned off the stove top and grabbed a new bowl. After wiping down his finger, he poured the soup and searched for a spoon. After inspecting the small specks that seemed to permanently stain the silver surface, he stuck it in the bowl and started to walk out again.

"Alright, just be careful its-" Dean started but stopped when he saw his brother. The man who could seem to keep his hands still for a moment was now sleeping. His long legs extended out to the coffee table, his knees were noticed meaning it had to be uncomfortable. His arms were crossed with the stress ball sitting in his hand. Dean laughed and smiled a bit looking down at the bowl in his hand. With the same smile, he looked at his baby brother. He thought of the photo again. As his smile faded, he sighed and shut his eyes tight and walked back.

After refrigerating the soup, he came back to his brother. He carefully turned off the TV and grabbed the stress ball, placing it back on the coffee table. He gently placed his arm under his brother's legs that were between the edge of the couch and the beginning of the coffee table and slowly turned him until his legs were sitting on the other two cushions of the couch. Dean had to quickly grab on to his brother's right shoulder, quickly grabbing a nearby pillow and propping it beneath his head as he gently let his brother fall back. Following that, he grabbed a light cover and put it over his legs and midsection, leaving his arms and torso out. "'Night, Sammy." Dean whispered as he walked to his room, adjacent to the one Sam would usually be in.

Dean took off his button up shirt and ironed pants to reveal a white t-shirt and boxers. He took off the ring off his right hand and the watch from his left. He looked at his alarm clock, glowing green that it was about thirty minutes past midnight now. He clicked to check and see if his alarm was set for the next morning. Six AM, sharp. He rolled himself under his sheets and struggled to get comfortable. He finally closed his eyes, and whispered, to seemingly no one:

"Please let him be ok. Please."

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	2. Chapter 2

As the beeping seemed to rip through the air, Dean slowly came out of a dream state. Little pieces of the visions from his slumber lingered as he stretched his right arm out and tapped the snooze button and burrowed his face in to his pillows. He exhaled a bit heavier than usual. Getting up was always a struggle for the man, and today was no easier.

His elbow cracked as he pushed himself up off his bed to walk over to closet. While grabbing a new t-shirt and pair of boxers to put on after his usual shower, the sounds from beyond his door registered. He couldn't hear the TV, which would have been common. Or the muffled sound of the music Sam would usually put on if he woke up in the middle of the night to drown out the silence back to sleep. Just running shower water. The amount of things that went through Dean's mind in a matter of a nanosecond would give anyone a headache. He dropped his clothes while hurrying to his door.

A little less than a run down the short hallway to the shared bathroom, Dean didn't bother knocking. Dean's breathing was hard as he opened the door. The light was on and the barely transparent shower curtain showed a smudged figure lying in the tub. Without a word, Dean turned off the water and pulled back the shower curtain. Panic set in as soon as his eyes saw his brother, still and cold.

Barely able to keep himself together, he got down on his knees to get a better perspective. The frail man's wet cloths made it hard to see if he was breathing. When Dean's shaking hand touched Sam's, just how cold it was sent chills up his spine. "…No…no…no…" Dean said under his breath. "Sam? Sammy?" He said a bit louder as he terrifyingly checked for a pulse. As soon as he pressed his brother's artery, the man coughed and caused Dean to jump. "God dammit, Sam…" Dean said slightly relieved, but still on edge. He propped himself up on the edge of the tub and reached for towels. "Sorry… I got really hot last night and didn't know what to do." Sam said as he rubbed his eyes.

Dean leaned down again and placed is hand behind his brother's back and said "Come on, we have to get you out of there. Clothes have to off." As Sam leaned forward, Dean removed the large shirt with minimal help from Sam. "Uh… You think you got your sweats?" Dean didn't really mind, but it was always best to ask his brother. He'd want the same treatment. "I think so." Sam said as he began to work off his heavy soaked sweat pants. Dean simply placed a towel around Sam's shoulders after hanging the dripping shirt on a hook next to him.

Once Sam was finally just down to wet boxers, Dean said "Ok, gotta get you in to bed. You are freezing." There was still a tremble in Dean's voice. His face no longer showed it, but panic wasn't going to leave for a little while. Sam raised his left hand and motioned for Dean to come closer. Dean offered his shoulders for his brother to wrap his arm around and Dean placed his right hand on his back as Sam began to try to stand. Sam was tall, but not in the greatest shape and Dean certainly out-weighted him. Gently, Sam was finally able to get out of the tub and with Dean's help, out the door.

Once Sam was finally in his bed, they were both lucid and aware of each other. "Sorry, Dean. I didn't want to wake you." Dean was in the process of removing the towel so that Sam could lie down and warm up. "Just…" Dean said but stopped himself as he looked at his brother. "Just don't scare me like that, alright?" Dean asked with a small twinge of fear in his voice. Sam gave a painful smile and said "Yeah. Alright." He rolled around a bit and got comfortable as Dean turned off the lights and shut the door a bit.

As Dean stood outside his brother's door, he exhaled heavily again. He finally noticed his own heart racing and the pit feeling in his stomach, the urge to throw up. He looked down the hallway toward the bathroom, light still on and the water still dripping from the head and finally emptying of any pooled water from Sam lying in the tub for hours. He turned around and entered his bedroom. He started to go for his dropped clothes, but then headed back to his bed. He sat down on the edge of his mattress and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, his chest shook a bit when his eyes couldn't hold it back anymore. Finally, with a heavy release of breath, he inhaled through his nose and wiped off his cheeks. Dean then shook his head and picked up the clothes again and was going to try his morning routine again.

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	3. Chapter 3

**4 years earlier…**

Dean arrived at the police station after parking his police cruiser in a fenced off lot in the back. His patrols for the past few days were leading nowhere. Sometimes he would switch up and use an unmarked car, trying to spot any drug activity going down in the regular areas. Not to make arrests, but to set up possible sting operations. Dean's work in narcotics was helpful, but nothing to brag about.

As he entered the building, the smell of fresh paint hit his nose hard, closing his eyes and coughing a bit. An uncaring "Sorry, man," came from one of the men holding a brush. Dean just waved at him and continued to walk. The time it took to do repairs on a building so busy was almost endless. If Dean didn't know any better, he could have sworn he saw the same crew working on this building as a young boy.

As Dean sat down at a desk and was about to start a bit of overdue paperwork, his CO placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and shook him a bit. "Winchester. Any good news?" The man said as he walked around the desk, hands in his pockets. "No, sir. It's a little too quiet out there, Bob." Dean looked up at the man. His name was Robert Singer, a long time cop and a longer time family friend. Bob was partners with Dean's father when he was killed in action. "That's what I was afraid of." Bob said as he motioned Dean to follow him.

Dean followed Bob in to a conference room which had several blackboards with pictures and reports taped to it, all with information about the infamous drug family "Crow". Of course Dean knew just about everything there was to know about them. Unknown true leadership, international in several directions from America, meaning the central office could be anywhere. But the most important fact was that the family had deep and strong ties to the Baltimore area and business was booming.

"Your intel for previous runs tells us that a large shipment is on its way to the Inner Harbor. They've taken all their street runners in until it gets here to keep us from getting their scent." Bob proceeded to point at several photos. "We have reason to believe one of these men are leading to operation here in Baltimore. None of them have been identified. They are smart." To Dean, the men all seemed like someone you would live next store to. Like soccer dads who raised kids and made dinner. Not drug lords. "They don't look like usual suspects. Is that guy wearing a sweater?" He asked as he examined the photos more closely.

"Hey, they got men and women on almost every intersection in this city. We just don't know when to expect them." Bob was frustrated by the case. It was too hard to pin point one person to blame for all the drugs that have been circulating the city. He just needed one person he could nail to the wall and start to tear apart the family's ties to the area.

"I want you to lead this bust tonight. You're smart, you got a damn good eye, and you are the spitting image of your father." Bob patted Dean on the back before he stepped out. Dean only nodded to say he would come along. He could hear the muffled announcement to the other officers that would be coming along for the bust. The Inner Harbor's ship yard was close, but the plan needed to be explained in grave detail. It was the aim of this bust to have no casualties, either from the officers, civilians, or suspects.

As the sunset, the officers were sitting on the shipyard, waiting for the arrival of a small vessel. Sonar bay-units were waiting to give them the signal. Dean's hands were rubbing together and he couldn't remove his brother from his mind. Before getting in to the van, he tried to call him. He wanted to talk to him and let him know what was about to happen and what could happen. But the phone went straight to voicemail and Dean didn't want to leave a message like that.

Over the talkie, word came from the bay-units that there was a vessel approaching and fast. The van was emptied almost immediately to start to surround the spot they would arrive. Dean was sporting a vest and the standard issue pistol, but was surrounded by SWAT teams, armed with much better firepower.

As the officers got closer, they could hear the small talk between the men waiting for the shipment. They were actually talking about their kids. Dean was unable to fathom why they were in the business with kids. It was a ridiculously dangerous thing to do when family is the first thing they go for. Like lions hunting buffalo, the youngest first.

The small vessel's engines finally were in earshot. They had slowed down considerably to reduce the noise. As it stopped, there was light welcoming and straight to business. Dean gave the signal to go ahead. He stepped from around a corner, followed by fellow officers and said when finally in view "Baltimore PD! Put your hands on your head, and don't you fucking move!" It was obvious that his voice startled the men, but as soon as Dean yelled, the well prepared team surrounded the men before they got the chance to do anything.

Millions worth of dollars in drugs and guns were discovered on the vessel. The men were all arrested, two wanted in several states on various and related charges in association to murders, hate crimes, and drug smuggling. This lead to Dean's honoring at several of the City's events for his heroic service.

Because of the bust, crimes related to drugs, drug use, and overdose was considerably reduced due to the crumbling of the cartel. With its most powerful leaders behind bars, the dealers skipped town to avoid any hassles and they were no longer receiving special treatment from the family.

A few months after, Dean was approached by a recruiter for the DEA and was offered a position with their prevention unit. After almost no hesitation, Dean agreed. That was when he moved his brother in with him in DC after his long treatment.

Dean still doesn't know why Sam didn't answer his phone that night. He had some ideas, which involved a girl and some party favors that Dean wouldn't really like to think of. But, it was the past. Dean was doing his very best to avoid the topic of the past as long as Sam was doing ok.

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	4. Chapter 4

Dean pulled up in to the office in his Impala, rock music blaring. Anyone within fifteen feet could make out Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive." They could also see the man rocking out and singing as loud as possible. Although he definitely had a talent, when he noticed that people were looking, he stopped himself and turned the music down. He laughed at himself for a moment before exiting with a couple files in hand, all about his focus over the past month: The Crow was back in the area.

It was about a week since Dean had the scare with Sam in the bathroom. Every day afterwards, Dean had gone home earlier and when he was given a chance to eat. He was terrified by what could happen. What he could do. But today, he promised Sammy that he wouldn't stop by. He trusted him, but not his sensations and cravings. Although Dean only did it because he cared, he needed to step back and try to let things get to a normal pace again. Although he was more content now than in previous days, he would still sit and think about Sam all day.

In the office, he sat down at his computer and started to do some recon on some of the tips he was able to compile and the surveillance work he and a few other agents were tasked with doing. Dean was put on such a high profile case simply because of his success with a bust before. He proved just how strong of a tool within the justice system he was with his collection of intel and connections within the community to get tough questions answered.

Almost everything they found pointed toward a group that seemed to sell their drugs and other products under the alias of what only Dean could describe as, Angels. According to local PDs and testimony of suspects caught with drugs, the drugs were given street names like "Grace" and "Enochian". They were both very strong, but common forms of crystal meth, while "Angel Dust" and "Feathers" were long lasting cocaine. The small packets that the drugs were purchased in had symbols and cartoon angel wings imprinted on them. And on an off chance, one of the suspects was high and seemed to not what to stop talking. The leader of the entire operation was always referred to as "Castiel" or "Cas" for short.

Dean was typing these facts out for a report to his superior agent. The closer Dean got to finding this guy, the closer he would get to making sure there were fewer drugs on the street. Unlike the last time, they seemed to have gotten much smarter. A joke everyone likes to make is maybe the dealers can fly away. They are never in the same spot for more than five minutes, but they can make more money in that time than Dean probably makes in a year. Several sting operations were a complete bust, no amount of tracking dogs or surveillance could keep track of them.

As Dean was finishing up the report, he could feel his phone vibrate before lightly playing the opening bass to "Smoke on the Water." The number was blocked but Dean didn't pay any attention to it.

"Hello? Sam?" Dean instinctively said.

"Hello, Dean." Said a mysterious voice on the other end of the phone.

"I'm sorry; I seem to be at a disadvantage. You know my number and my name and all I know is you really need a throat lozenge." Dean got straight to the point and wasn't going to beat around bush. If it was his desk phone, he would act a bit more professionally, but it was his personal line someone was able to get a hold of.

"I think if you look long and hard at that report you've been typing for the last… 32 minutes, you'd probably find out." The voice was obviously very satisfied with himself. But Dean's stomach dropped. He looked around himself, stood up, and did another sweep. The building was secure and he knew no one with the intent to harm would have gotten in here without an army jumping on them. Dean probably wouldn't even hear about an attempted breach until hours afterwards.

Dean sat down and continued, "So, is that Castiel? The Angel of Thursday?" Dean was still just as sarcastic, pulling up a web page that he found on the angel's history.

The voice on the other end laughed, "Yes. An angel of the lord. If you'd like to keep playing this game of Angels and Demons, I'm hip."

"Hey," said Dean, "you called me. I'm doing my job. But I'm guessing the only way you can tell I've been doing any of this is by monitoring my computer. You aren't in the building and watching me. Smart, Cas. Didn't know dicks could use computers."

Castiel was a bit more irritated, but still laughed. "Oh trust me, we are watching. You've been watched since your big-win in Baltimore. Boss man doesn't take too kindly to cops that interfere with the family business. We've just been waiting for an opportunity to make ourselves known."

The pit in Dean's stomach returned. "Wow. I'm flattered. So do you think I should see a doctor about the rash on my ass? It's not spreading at all and doesn't hurt, but when you got a great ass like me, you need to take care of it. And now that I know I have an audience, I want to look my best." Dean was responding to the worry with more sarcasm, just hoping he would finally get what he wanted out of the man that contacted him.

After a stiff laugh, Castiel exhaled hard and said "Fine. It seems you don't really want to know what the family has planned for you. You could call family and give your good byes." Castiel didn't hang up just yet. He was just as close as Dean.

Dean was fed up, and it seemed that Castiel won their little pissing match. "Alright, you look here you son of a bitch! If you are going to call me and threaten me, you damn well better plan on killing me now. Right here, right now! Or as soon as I get out of here, you are my next stop!" He screamed in to his phone. He was shaking as the people around him became alarmed and were alerting superior agents about what was being said.

Castiel laughed more, this time with delight. "Oh, I'm sorry Dean. You mistook me. You should say good bye to your family, because they are first." Castiel continued to laugh as Dean hung up the phone.

"No, no, no, no, no!" He said to himself slightly raisings his voice each time, fumbling with his phone. One of the agents he was working with stopped him by grabbing his shoulders and said "Winchester, what's going on?" It was an agent Garth. Dean was slowly growing on to the goofy agent. But Dean was in a rush.

Dean brushed the man off and continued to walk, but said "It's Castiel! He called me before he planned to hurt my family. I'll hang the son of a bitch myself." He muttered as he entered a stairwell, his keys already in his hand. His phone was already calling his mother's home number. He hadn't spoken to her since Christmas, but it was only because he knew she'd be upset otherwise. When he got the answering machine that she was in Kansas visiting friends and family for the week, he exhaled heavily.

His ease was short lived as Sam's name came to mind. Dean instantly became nauseous with anxiety as his hands worked with his phone to try and call his and his brother apartment. The line was disconnected. "Shit!" he said throwing his phone against the pavement of the parking lot next to this Impala. He jumped in to the driver's seat. The engine roared as he nearly floored the gas pedal as he left out for the highway.

The drive was the longest one Dean had experienced in a while. He kept forgetting to breath and the only thing he said was "Sammy… Sammy…" as one of his favorite songs played from one of his many mix tapes.

_"Carry on my wayward son,_

_ There'll be peace when you are done._

_ Lay your weary head to rest,_

_ Don't you cry no more."_

By the time he was in his apartment complex, the song was long over and forgotten.

Dean sprinted toward his door, readying his key to unlock it. When he arrived at the door, it was already open a bit, just barely touching the door frame. His right hand shook as he went to grab his gun. When it was drawn, he pushed the door open and went straight in to the kitchen. It was spot less, and pretty much the way Dean left it that morning. Went back in to the hallway and started to walk toward the living room.

The TV was on, but Sam was not on the couch watching it and Dean couldn't hear any music from his brother's room. Dean slowly approached Sam's door and pushed it open. The bed was messy, but empty. Dean exited the room and looked down the hall at the bathroom. The light was on again. His heart sank a bit with each step. He turned the knob quickly and put his gun first. The bathroom was empty as well. Dean sighed and holstered his gun. "Sam? … Sammy?" He yelled to see if he missed his young brother hiding. He stepped down the hallway and looked in the living room again. He looked down for a second. He nearly gagged as he realized he didn't check his own room. He swiftly turned to his left and opened the door.

His room was a disaster. Pure white feathers covered in either red paint or butcher blood coated every surface of his room. The walls were covered with paintings in the same red substance of angels, clouds, and what could be called heaven. And at the center was Sam. "Sammy!" Dean yelled as he dropped down to his brother.

Sam had a light pulse and was barely breathing. Dean looked at him, dressed in a white robe and completely clean. As he moved him a bit, that was when he noticed the tourniquet that sat next to his brother's limp brother. Further searching turned up a few needles and empty plastic backs with angel wings imprinted on them. Dean shook as he grabbed his brother's shoulders and head and brought them in to his chest and said, "No…" and cried. "Sam?" He said, a tear still falling from his eye. "Sam!" he yelled when he didn't get a response.

Shaking, Dean picked up his brother and struggled to carry him out of the room. "Stay with me Sammy. You stay with me, dammit!" He moved as fast as he could out of the apartment and walked toward his Impala…

**SEVERAL HOURS LATER…**

Dean sat in a small room in the local hospital, his elbows on his knees, his palms together as he rubbed them together. He stared straight ahead from where he sat. His breathes were controlled and rhythmic. He was trying his hardest not to fall apart in that very moment.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened and doctor propped open the door. "Mr. Winchester, you can see him now." Without a second thought, Dean was approaching the door and said to the doctor, "How is he?" And the doctor explained the situation.

Sam had obvious indication of being forced a couple of doses of the meth that was in his system, but several afterwards were voluntary. The amount in his system was slowly shutting down his nervous system, and if Dean had shown up a few minutes too late, he probably wouldn't have made it. He was given several medications to counter act the drugs and was sleeping at the time. The doctor showed him to his brother's room; Dean thanked him as the doctor left him alone. He let the door close behind him.

Dean stood at the door looking at his brother in the hospital bed. His hair was pushed out of the way and weighed down by his sweat. His face was pale and beading with sweat, his lips were nearly purple. His arms were wrapped where the needles were inserted in to his veins and his lower body was covered with a blanket. Dean shut his eyes for a long time, but they shook with the immediate sensations that took over his body. He opened them hoping it was all a nightmare. But his brother was still on the bed. He was still pale.

As Dean stepped forward, he couldn't hold it back anymore. "Sammy…" He said with a shaky voice as she stood next to his brother. He leaned down and kissed him on the forehead before he turned around and pulled a chair up to him. Where he sat, he was about eye level with Sam in the tall bed. Dean wiped his face and exhaled heavily before gripping his brother's left hand with his own and forced it to clasp his hand. Feeling how cold his brother was, he dropped his head and sobbed even more. He placed his forehead against his own hand a top of Sam's and breathed in.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy…" He said as he picked his head up a bit. "I screwed it up." Dean said as his voice cracked. "Why didn't I just stay home for a while?" His voice filled with rage at himself. He was feeling several emotion at once, all targeted at him. "I failed you. And I don't know what to do anymore. I was supposed to protect you and instead I left you to waste away. And when I finally did my job, I didn't see it through." Dean was steadily crying, lightly shaking. "And now, we're here…" Sam's gripped tightened a bit on Dean's hand and Dean's head shot up. "Sam? … Sam?" Dean said, seeing if his brother was awakening.

Sam's weak eye's slowly opened and just pierced the ceiling for a moment before he looked around. When his eyes met Dean's, Dean cracked a smile through his tears and said "Hey, Sammy." But Sam just closed his eyes and his chest shook as he sobbed heavily. "Sammy, it's ok. It's ok. The doctor said you'll be alright." Dean was worried, but he didn't want his brother to be. Sam only needs to rest and feel better while Dean made sure all the worry was put on him.

Sam inhaled and said "No. I'm not!" His hand grasped Dean's tight and he said "I'm so sorry! I fucked up again." His sobs only got heavier as he made eye contact with his brother again, and instantly broke up. "Why didn't I just die?" He said covering his face.

Dean's jaw dropped. He was just nearly as emotional as Sam. "No. I said it's ok. You're going to be ok." Dean stood up, still holding on to his brother's hand. "And don't you dare, ever, say you want to die. Hell if I'm going to be here without you. This is on me, ok? You were a target because of me…" Dean stopped and wiped his face again. "And I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself for that. But I will am here for you this time and I'm going to make sure you are ok. You hear me?" Dean's voice was a bit sterner than before. He had to pull himself together so Sam would be able to calm down. He had to brave for him.

Sam sniffled a bit, wiping his own eyes with his free hand. And finally looked in to Dean's eyes and said "Ok." But his voice cracked and he shook his head as he started to sob again. Sam was shaking as Dean leaned in and hugged his brother. "I need you, Sammy. I always have, and I always will. I love you." Sam's weak arms wrapped around Dean from the side of the bed and they just stayed still for a while. Dean's heart had finally slowed down. He was breathing easily. His body was no longer tense. His stomach didn't have knots. He was at peace. Peace came from his brother's embrace and he knew it. The mere thought of not being able to hug him again was enough to put Dean in to a frenzy before. He was smiling again, even if he couldn't help but cry too.

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End file.
